Saving Ib
by freiheit89
Summary: Ever since he left the Fabricated World, Garry has carried the guilt of leaving Ib behind. He tries to live a normal life, but his mind is constantly filled with images of Ib, and the horrors she may be going through in that dreadful world. Garry is determined to get Ib back, but is unsure how to. Then, he encounters a mysterious girl who says she can help. Can Garry trust her?


Garry's POV

The rose sculpture loomed up in front of me, bright red and beautiful. I stared at it intently, the sounds of the other gallery-goers fading away into the background. There was something about this particular piece that stirred up a strange feeling deep inside me. It felt... familiar, and deeply important in a way I couldn't place. As I stared at the huge rose, I failed to hear someone come up behind me and jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder.

"Oh!" A woman with brown hair stood behind me, deep red eyes wide in shock. "I didn't mean to scare you, young man. I didn't know you were so deeply absorbed in this piece."

"Yeah..." I turned back to the sculpture and sighed. "When I look at this sculpture, I feel somehow... sorrowful. I wonder why?" I shook my head. "I'm sorry, ma'am, for saying such a thing. It's just-"

"That's okay." The woman smiled a sweet, kind smile that had me feeling oddly relieved. "I understand how someone needs to let their feelings out when they see an art piece that speaks deeply to them."

Suddenly, the smile dropped from her face and she looked around worriedly, biting her lip. "Are you looking for someone?" I asked.

"Yes, my daughter. She went to go look at the exhibits on her own and she's been gone for quite a while. Have you seen her? She looks a lot like me and she's wearing a red skirt and a white blouse."

An image flashed in my head. A young girl, kneeling down in front of me, handing me a rose... a blue one, with ten soft petals on it. The girl reminded me of this woman. I shook my head at the thought and told the woman that I had not seen her daughter. She pursed her lips at my answer.

"Alright. Thank you." She started walking away, then turned back towards me. "Do you have the time?"

I nodded, holding up my wrist only to find that my watch wasn't on it. I frowned and searched my pockets. It was there, along with a white piece of delicate cloth with white lace. I peered at it curiously, wondering when that had gotten there and who had given it to me. Once again, I just shook my head at the disorienting thoughts and told the woman the time. She thanked me and walked away, calling out the name Ib. I paid no attention, just staring down at the handkerchief in my hand, embroidered with the same name I could still hear the woman calling out. How had I gotten her daughter's handkerchief, and why was it all bloody?

A sharp jab of pain in my hand made me look back down. I was wounded. On the hand. Another image invaded my mind. There was a girl... a girl that gave me her handkerchief. Yes! I was given this handkerchief by that girl. By Ib! Ib. I remember now. Ib and I went though that creepy gallery together, avoiding art pieces that had come to life and tried to kill us. And... Mary. Guertena's last painting. She had wanted so much to be real, trying to kill me in order to do it. Ib and I had escaped her and gotten back to the landscape painting, our ticket home. But that woman, a fake version of Ib's mother, had shown up and convinced Ib to stay not jump through...

I ran away from the rose sculpture and went up to the second floor of the gallery, heading right for that cursed painting. A small part of me knew I wouldn't find anything helpful there, but a bigger part hoped that I would find something- anything, to bring Ib back to me. I got up there. Like before, there was no-one looking at that particular painting. It was like it repelled people. I read the little plaque under the painting: _Fabricated World_. This was the painting, the one that had trapped me and Ib. I had seen Guertena paint this particular piece. When I was younger, I was fascinated on the way he could create something so abstract and beautiful with just a few strokes of his brush. Now I just thought it was hideous; something pretty to draw your eye, then entrap you in a world full of horrors.

"Ib!" Ib's mother rounded the corner, giving me a smile when our gazes locked.

I could see the worry growing on her face as she searched what had to be the only other part in the building her daughter could be. I contemplated telling her where her daughter was, why she wasn't coming back, and giving her back the handkerchief. But then again... she'd probably not believe me, call me a nut, then accuse me of kidnapping her daughter. I could get thrown in jail! No, I couldn't risk it. With one last, sad glance at the Fabricated World, I turned away and left the gallery.

(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)(~)

The old store front was dark and lonely looking. I hadn't been here for weeks. Not since my father died. In his will, he had left the old building to me, knowing I'd be homeless once he died. However, because of the contents of this building, I had refused to live in it, instead choosing to sleep on benches around town. Now, I _needed_ to go inside. To destroy what was in there. I unlocked the door and went in. A layer of dust was settled on everything; including the art pieces. My gaze skimmed over each and every canvas I could see, meeting the eyes of each and every face in Guertena's unwanted works. Self portraits, paintings of random women, of everyday objects; everything. I used to love these pieces. The colors mixed together perfectly and created a magical sight. Maybe Guertena hadn't liked them, but his family had.

But now they needed to be gone.

I slipped off my jacket, gathered up all 134 of the paintings and lugged them upstairs to the living area, ten at a time. Shoving as many as possible into the fireplace, I poured some oil from a lamp I found downstairs over the first few canvases and used my lighter to light them on fire. The flames licked hungrily at the oil-covered paintings, then went on to burn the others. I spent the rest of the night making sure each and every piece of art was thoroughly burned to a crisp.

Grandfather's paintings would never hurt anybody ever again.


End file.
